


Peggy and The Rock

by bibliotechpage



Category: Agent Carter - Fandom, Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Boy Scouts, Camp, F/M, Girl Scouts, Scout!Peggy, Scout!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:39:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliotechpage/pseuds/bibliotechpage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the general idea of Moonrise Kingdom (because I love Wes Anderson), Peanuts and James D'arcy saying "Peggy and The Rock" sounded like a kids' book. (Gotta love James.) This a little story about Scout!Peggy and Scout!Steve in an alternate universe had they met as young children at a Scout Camp. Sometimes small, kind gestures can speak comfort greater than any words. </p><p>Also, because Peggy would probably be to Steve as the little red haired girl is to Charlie Brown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peggy and The Rock

**Author's Note:**

> Also, because Peggy would probably be to Steve as the little red haired girl is to Charlie Brown.

Little nine year old Peggy was excited as she always was for camp. She liked meeting new people, but most of all she enjoyed climbing around the great outdoors as much as was possible. By the end of every day, she would be covered in mud or simply massive amounts of dust. But this year’s scout camp was going to be different. They were trying something new. The most outstanding of the troop were to travel to meet other scouts in America, including the boy scouts, at a camp. It would be a new experience and she was a little nervous. So, she checked her list, scrawled out in nine-year-old handwriting, being sure to pack everything she needed. Checking and double-checking. Her blanket. Her pillow. A torch. Her rocks. Slingshot. Compass. Map… The list wasn’t too large, but it definitely covered almost everything a young scout might need for camp. She ran over to the calendar that hung from a nail on the wall. The first day of camp was clearly circled, with most of the days leading up to it X-ed out in red crayon. Before she knew it, they would already be there.

And sure enough, the days flew by, and she was overseas on the train that would take them to the camp near the lake. She rested her chin on the sill of the window of the train slightly sleepy from her travels, her dark locks blown back by the force of their speed. Click-clack. Click-clack. The steady rhythm of the train against the tracks kept time. Large expanses of grass were lush and green broken up by mountainsides and forests. Her heart longed to scamper about the hillside, but she reminded herself to be patient, camp promised much of this. So she sat, content to watch the greenery from her seat for the time being.

They arrived at the train station. Things were unloaded from the cars and there was still a ways to go, but that was part of the adventure. A bright yellow bus would take them to their final destination. They piled in and off they went. She could sense the site drawing near, and couldn’t help but keep her face looking out the window searching all over. Nothing could make her look away, not even when she was tossed about by the bumps in the road. Soon enough, they drove past a sign that said “Tent Camping Ahead.”

And there it was, not too long after the sign, scout flags welcoming the expected guests. Her little fingers pressed against the glass of the bus window. This was it; this was what she had been waiting for through all of her travels. It was everything that she had hoped for- large trees for climbing; lush hills for rolling around in; and plenty of dirt to dig in.

She happily stepped off the bus, luggage on her back and in hand. In an orderly fashion, the troop walked to their spot. They met up with the American girl scouts who were a little shy at first, but eventually warmed up to them as they worked together to set up their tents. The boys were across the way separated by the small lake, but there was plenty of time to figure them out later. Tonight, it was time to feast on stew as they all sat around the campfire. The flames flickered and danced as the glow warmed them, wood crackling as embers dissipated all around them.

The troop leaders gave everyone a pep talk after dinner and then it was off to bed. Everyone washed up a bit. Lanterns were turned off. Tent canvases were closed to keep the smaller creatures from joining them in their sleep. Peggy wanted to be well-rested for tomorrow’s exploring, so she shut her eyes, allowing sleep to set in.

They woke to the loud and slightly out of tune cadence of a trumpet. Everyone was quite groggy, but Peggy, with great grit, got to her feet and readied herself for the day. Slipping her dress over her head, she grabbed her satchel and laced up her saddle shoes to be one of the first to get out in the fresh air.

She headed over to the halfway point between the boys camp and the girls camp. The morning dew splashed at her ankles and legs as she traversed the small expanse of the grass. Spotting the perfect tree, she pushed her satchel back to rest behind her and began her ascent into the lower part of the canopy of green around her. The tree she picked wasn’t too tall, but just tall enough that she had the perfect view of the sun as it continued rising before her. Her fingers braced against the coarse, and at some points, brittle bark. The branches gave little under her light weight as she ascended. She found the perfect spot and let her legs hang down from the sturdy branch. Enthralled with the sunrise, she hadn’t bothered to notice the scrawny little boy who had nested himself at the base of the tree until she heard his sniffling.

She looked down from where she was perched, just above his head, his blonde hair perfectly parted. He was a slight little thing, bunched up in seemingly over-sized clothes. By anyone else’s standards, one might wonder how he even got into the scouts in the first place. But Peggy wasn’t like other people. He was here just like all the rest of the scouts and that’s all that mattered. She called down to him.

“Hey! You alright?”  
Unintentionally, she startled him, his drawing effects dropping from his hands. Gathering them back up, he turned to find the source of her voice, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.  
“Yeah,” he sniffled. “Thanks for asking.”  
She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was not okay.  
She scuttled down the tree as easily as she had climbed up. When she felt she was close enough to the ground, she dropped down with a soft thud. She brushed herself off, ridding her attire of a few leaves and branches then plopped down next to him. He didn’t look at her, just kept staring at his sketchbook trying not to let her see his reddened puffy eyes. She didn’t have a direct angle of his face, but she still noticed. She could see the lightly tear stained paper in front of him.

“I’m Peggy. I'm 9,” she said introducing herself to the boy.  
“Steve. I’m 10,” he responded, still not looking up at her. Though he was months older he was still reasonably smaller than Peggy. The color of his skin had a certain pallor to it. Yet despite the rest of his body looking frail, his face was inviting and his lips curved ever so slightly.  
“That’s an amazing drawing.”  
“Thanks,” he whispered as he scratched the tip of his pencil within the contour lines he had already drawn. She watched for a while, seeing his body uncoil from its tense posture as he continued on.  
“She’s beautiful.”  
“Thanks. That’s my mom,” he answered his lower lip trembling.  
Confused, but smart enough to figure that his mother was the reason for his tears, she asked, “Did something happen to her?”  
His nod was so that she barely caught it, the whisper in return equaled in audibility, “Yeah,” he managed, “she died.”  
Saddened at his response, she didn’t really know what to say. She couldn’t imagine if it was her mum who had passed on. A world without her mother or father would be unthinkable. She remembered a conversation that she had had with her mother. She told Peggy that not everything can be soothed with words. Often a kind gesture can help far more than anything said. And then it hit her, she knew just the thing. Well, at least, she hoped it would help. She whipped open the flap of her satchel and began digging through in rabid search.  
“I know you’re in here,” she mumbled under her breath her tongue sticking out in determination. She gingerly, yet quickly, began to pull out various items- her torch, her map, her compass... when, finally, her fingertips fell upon the soft silky fabric of her rock bag. She excitedly pulled it out with an elated “a-ha!” and began lining up each rock in a single file line in order of size. There were small smooth ones. Rough ones. Ones with striations. Ones with light colors. Ones of dark obsidian. And at the end he noticed the biggest one of them all. It was a deep gray color, smooth all around with a flat side and a rounded side. He stared at it, entranced by this singular rock.

“My Dad brought these ones home for me. He gets one from every place he goes. He travels a lot for work. I’ve named my favourites and the other ones I use for my slingshot,” she pointed to her trusty slingshot. “You can pick it up and look at it.” Steve picked it up with care and began inspecting it. It was a well-crafted wooden piece, with a sturdy elastic rubber band. The leather piece looked well used, but well taken care of. He pulled on the slingshot, shooting off an imaginary rock. Peggy watched, satisfied that he seemed pleased with it. Steve turned back to the rocks.  
“You gotta nice rock collection.”  
“Thanks. I’ve named most of them.” She started with the smallest one that she had named. “This one is called Dum Dum. Next is Jim. Gabe. Jaques. Falsworth. Junior. Pinky. Happy. Edwin. And this one,” Peggy pointed to the last one that Steve had been intrigued by just moments before, “that’s The Rock.”

Steve looked at her confused. All the others had quite specific names, but this one was just “The Rock.”  
“Why is that one just The Rock?”  
“I’ve had him the longest. He’s the first one my dad brought back for me. And he reminds me of him. Strong. He’s kind and not sharp or mean at all. He’s got dimples when he smiles. Like this.” She ran her finger over the dimples on the rock and then pointed to her own as she smiled at Steve. It was the first time he had really looked at her. He noticed how her deep brown eyes ebbed on an almost golden color in the sunlight. He didn’t want to stare, but she had to be the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Though momentarily distracted, he did his best to keep his attention on what she was saying. “I keep him close when my dad is gone. When I miss him most. Here,” she said placing the sturdy rock in his hands, “You can keep him.”  
“I can’t do that, he’s yours.”  
“No, it’s okay. I really want you to have him. I hope he can help you, too. And you can have one of my other rocks that I haven’t named.”  
Steve timidly looked down at The Rock, not understanding why this girl, Peggy, was so kind to him. They had only just met. Most other kids didn’t even want to give him the time of day. He was too scrawny. Too nerdy. He was a blockhead. What a square. He just didn’t fit in. He couldn’t keep up. But none of that seemed to occur to her. She sat patiently, waiting for him to make a decision on which one he’d like. He noticed one that had what seemed like golden amber flecks. He recalled that split second of seeing the bright amber color in Peggy’s eyes. It reminded him of the warmth of his mother’s spirit. He picked it up and felt the weight of it. Despite its size, it was light. It was the perfect metaphor for this meeting. Like the weight of life was lighter. That the world could be bright still, even though his mother was gone. Even though kids were cruel. But Peggy wasn’t. She wanted to help and share the burden of hurt with him.

He smiled, proud of his choice, “thank you.”  
She smiled turning back to her collection. “Well, we should probably go back to camp.” They gathered their things and made their way back to their respective camps promising to meet at the same time and place. Though their time together at camp seemed to pass by with an unforeseen speed, their friendship grew. When the final day of camp came, they vowed to keep in touch. He gave her a piece he had been working on when they weren’t together, working under the light of his torch by night beneath the cover of his blanket. It was something she kept close, cherishing it and adding it to her satchel as a permanent piece. And when they returned home the friendship continued on in ink and paper. Stamps and envelopes. What they had would never fade.


End file.
